


None Of You Noticed

by Girleverafter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girleverafter/pseuds/Girleverafter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that he doesn’t smell like Stiles. He still smells like an odd mix of cinnamon, lemon grass, and hormone fuelled teenager, but there’s something else under all that. A smell that didn’t register at first.</p><p>The kid has been acting weird for weeks now, well, weirder than usual. But Derek didn’t really catch on to the change in his scent until a few days ago, and he’s been trying to pinpoint the wrongness of it until only a minutes ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	None Of You Noticed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dark_K](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_K/gifts).



> This was actually, if I remember correctly, my first venture into fanfics. It's basically just a scene, a slice of life (except it's not very... regular)
> 
> Inspired by a giftset of Demon Stiles taunting Derek. Originally posted here: http://girleverafter.tumblr.com/post/31651175641/darkjan-im-too-good-for-someone-like-you

Stiles’ smile is crooked when he momentarily looks up. Crooked, and somehow off. It doesn’t look like him at all. The boy rolls over, facing the ground and coughs. The cough pulls blood with it, painting the ground vivid red splotches. Derek takes a deep and calming breath. There’s no need for him to let the wolf surface. This will be solved without the added strength it gives him. It's just Stiles. He knows that he has the upper hand here. None the less, he’s nervous. There’s something very wrong with Stiles. He doesn’t smell right. It’s not that he doesn’t smell like Stiles. He still smells like an odd mix of cinnamon, lemon grass, and hormone fuelled teenager, but there’s something else under all that. A smell that didn’t register at first.

The kid has been acting weird for weeks now. Well, _weirder_ than usual. But Derek didn’t really catch on to the change in his scent until a few days ago, and he’s been trying to pinpoint the wrongness of it until only a couple of minutes ago. It’s as if something sick and slithery has invaded Stiles’ being. It’s writhing and pulsing just underneath his familiar scent, and seems like it’s grown stronger every day. Which could explain why Derek hasn’t been able to get a fix on it before now. It would be nice if he was able to tell himself that. But Derek knows better. He's been too busy to really pay attention. Too busy with pack matters to really notice the token human.

Stiles is still down.

Derek shouldn’t have hit him. He really shouldn’t. Derek’s never needed to be truly violent towards the teen. Unless you count that one time he smashed the kid's head against the steering wheel of that ridiculous jeep of his, and Stiles had kind of deserved that. Maybe. Since then he’s never needed to do more than push Stiles against walls, push him away, or snapped a threat at him, to get results. But not this time. He hadn’t expected them, not at all. The words that had passed Stiles’ lips had been enough to push him over the edge.  
  
 _It’d been one of those times where Stiles had wanted to be in on the secret meetings, standing there outside the warehouse, arriving earlier than the others, like the eager student of all things supernatural, that he is. Derek had dismissed him, as usual; He’d told Stiles to go home, to mind his own damn business, and had turned to go back into the warehouse when Stiles had hissed out something closer to poison than actual words. At least that was how they’d felt in the end. Derek had stopped in his track as soon as he’d heard Stiles’ voice, but hadn’t turned around._

 _“Y’know what? Fuck you, Derek! Fuck. You!! I do everything for you guys._ Everything! _I’ve saved you too many fucking times! And for what? That’s right…_ Nothing!! _When are you ever gonna trust me? Yeah, be silent and fuckin’ stoic as ever. I can answer that one for you, too; Never, that’s when. You constantly demand that I drop_ everything _for you. You bully me around. You just push, push and_ push _! But when the fucking tables are turned, you give nothing!! You don’t deserve my help! You_ certainly _don’t deserve my pity!!”_

_Derek just stood still, listening to Stiles rage. It was easy enough. This way Stiles would get it out of his system, and then he’d leave. Usually._

_“Pity…” He says it as if the word offends him “You know, I won’t help anymore. I won’t try and save your stupid werewolf ass anymore. You don’t deserve it. You’ve done_ nothing _to deserve it!! You won’t do anything for me. I mean nothing to you, do I? No one means anything to you, do they? You play the dead family card, but in truth, did they mean anything to you? Anything at all? Did you even try to help_ any _of them?? I’m sure you didn’t. I bet that if you’d been here then, you’d gladly just stand idly by, as Peter fuckin’ hacked Laura in two! Heh, I mean, you did just throw her into a fucking hole in the forest, like she was trash!!”_

_Derek had snapped then, he had turned and used the momentum to backhand Stiles across the face, his knuckles slamming against the kid’s cheek and nose. There was more power behind the movement than he’d probably intended, the rage released into it, fueling it. And Stiles had crumpled like a ragdoll to the ground._

And now here he stands, with a bleeding boy lying at his feet.

Derek takes a step back, away from Stiles, breathing through his nose and getting another hit of that wrongness in the air. It’s as if the violence of the moment has made it even stronger. Maybe it’s the blood?

Stiles’ shoulders shake, and at first Derek thinks he’s crying. He really shouldn’t have hit him. But then a giggle escapes the kid. An actual giggle. Derek takes another step back, his breath caught in his throat. What the actual fuck? Stiles rolls over, lying on the ground, and he’s laughing. Just like that. He splutters a little, and Derek thinks that he broke Stiles’ nose. There’s blood running freely down his cheek and pooling in the shell of his ear. He just laughs and laughs, coughing, making the blood spray into the air, and landing on his pale skin, like rose colored freckles.

Derek doesn’t know why, but he can feel the fear building inside his chest, pressing against his throat, and he wants to lash out against it. He wants to release it through bunched up fists and make Stiles shut up. Why is the idiot laughing? He must be hurting so bad, and yet he just lies there, his laughter bubbling up and out of his body like that one hit just made his day. It’s like Derek is frozen to the spot, just standing there, not knowing what to do, how he can silence that noise. It doesn’t even sound like Stiles anymore. There’s an odd tone to it, almost like two people laughing. Almost. One sounds so overjoyed, and the other, the one underneath… sounds desperate. Desperate and horrified.

“Stiles?…”

He really needs the rest of the pack to arrive. Shouldn’t they be here by now? He knows that he can find enough strength if they’d just show up. They’d probably know what to do about the kid, too. He’s not good at this. Everything feels so wrong, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Stiles… what?…”

It’s then that Stiles sits up, and the laughter stops, like someone switched it off. He leans on one arm, the gravel digging into the palm of his hand. Stiles wipes some of the blood away with his sleeve, even though his nose hasn’t stopped bleeding. He looks up at Derek and offers him a cold smile.

“Stiles isn’t in right now. He’s… busy. But if you’ll leave a message, I’ll be sure to pass it on” He blinks slowly, and when he focusses on Derek once more, his pupils are blown. Actually, they’re so big that Derek can hardly see any of the brown anymore. But they keep getting bigger, bleeding over into the white, washing over it, eclipsing it. His eyes look like black marbles as his smile grows wider.

“Hi!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I should finish this somehow, or even HOW I'd finish it. It was just this quick hit of inspiration, and never meant as something longer. But who knows? I do love a demon!Stiles fic with a happy ending.


End file.
